Potpourri
by Cadaverous Apples
Summary: pō'pʊ-rē': 1. a mixture of dried petals of roses or other flowers with spices, kept in a jar for their fragrance. 2. a mélange of one hundred drabbles that may or may not smell piquant. DG and others.
1. I: New

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

I: New

* * *

In all her young life, Ginny Weasley had never owned something new. Her clothes used to be Ron's from when he had grown out of them (and before that, they'd been Percy's). Her books were more suited to belong in a museum than on her shelf. Her low-flyer broom was the first of its kind, bought thirdhand for Bill before making its way through her line of siblings to stay with her.

And she didn't mind. She really didn't, because she didn't know it any other way.

Her first trip to Diagon Alley when she was six was certainly an enlightening one.

For one, she learned a new word. A couple, actually. "Poor" was a new one. "Wealthy" was another. She quickly discovered that her family with its lovingly-stitched and patched clothes and used _everything _would fall under the first category. And she met another family that would fall into the latter.

"Pretty, aren't they?" A voice interrupted her silent admiration of the countless glittering jewelry displayed in a window. Ginny glanced to the side quickly, finding a boy about her age looking at her instead of the bracelets. She thought he looked different than anyone she had ever seen: snow blond hair and un-freckled skin with eyes the color of rock marrow.

"Yeah," she said, turning back to the window and fingering her favorite purple patch on her left elbow.

"I'm getting Mother the one with the sapphires," he told her proudly, pointing at a silver bracelet with blue stones that winked at Ginny enticingly.

"I wish I could get one," she confessed sadly, eyeing a delicate gold chain with tiny red stones.

"Why can't you?"

Ginny turned to the boy at the surprise in his voice. She blinked, as if it was obvious. "I don't get new things."

The boy looked confused, before a look of determination crossed his face.

The green of his robes as they swished into the shop reminded Ginny of frost covering the pine trees outside of the Burrow during winter. A little hurt that he had abandoned her, Ginny wandered over to the next store, illuminating a gleaming racing broom that looked ten times better than her own low-flyer.

She had just heard her mother's worried call when something was shoved into her hands. The package was small and wrapped in a golden paper. Ginny turned to find the boy from earlier holding an identical package of silver paper.

"I had a few extra Galleons," he told her, embarrassed. "Don't thank me."

"Draco!"

At the call, he gave her a last, fleeting glance before hurrying over to an elegant woman with long blonde hair.

Ginny ran over to her mother, tucking the package into her threadbare coat so her mother wouldn't see.

"There you are, Ginny. I've been worried sick."

Ginny allowed herself to be smothered in her mother's warm arms, breathing in the mother smell of gingerbread and vanilla.

It wasn't until a few years later that Ginny discovered exactly who the boy was and why it had been an awfully good idea to keep the bracelet he'd given her a secret.

* * *

Total words: 520.

* * *

A/N: For the next hundred days, I'm going to be participating in this 100 Days, 100 Drabbles challenge at the DG Forum. So those of you that have me on author alert (*coughs pointedly*) should be getting about an email a day. :)

They will all be unbeta'd, and they should be 400 words or less. I've decided that the ones that go over (like this one, for instance) shall be posted as I intended and with an edited version that makes the cut down below (as you can see). So some of them will have an extra-boosted word count.

The drabbles will be of varying genres, ratings (which may go up from T if I get to that point), and universes and are not inter-related unless strictly mentioned. So! Let's see if we can do this! :D

Roma

P.S. Thanks for reading and sorry for the confusion about two almost identical (excluding the extra 120 words) drabbles!

* * *

In all her life, Ginny Weasley had never owned something new. Her clothes used to be Ron's (and before that, they'd been Percy's). Her books were more suited to belong in a museum. Her low-flyer broom was the first of its kind, bought thirdhand for Bill before making its way through her line of siblings.

She didn't mind because she didn't know it any other way.

Her first trip to Diagon Alley when she was six was certainly an enlightening one. She learned a few new words. "Poor" and "wealthy" were the important ones.

"Pretty, aren't they?" A voice interrupted her admiration of the glittering jewelry displayed in a window. Ginny glanced to the side, finding a boy looking at her instead of the bracelets. She thought he looked different than anyone she had ever seen: snow blond hair and un-freckled skin with eyes the color of rock marrow.

"Yeah."

"I'm getting Mother the one with the sapphires," he told her proudly, pointing at a silver bracelet with stones that winked at Ginny.

"I wish I could get one," she confessed, eyeing a gold chain with tiny red stones.

"Why can't you?"

Ginny turned to the boy at the surprise in his voice. She blinked. "I don't get new things."

The boy looked confused, before a look of determination crossed his face.

The green of his robes as he swished into the shop reminded Ginny of frost covering pine trees during winter. Hurt that he had abandoned her, Ginny wandered over to the next store showcasing a gleaming racing broom.

She had just heard her mother's worried call when something was shoved into her hands. The package was small and wrapped in golden paper. Ginny turned to find the boy from earlier holding an identical silver package.

"I had a few extra Galleons," he told her, embarrassed. "Don't thank me."

"Draco!"

At the call, he gave her a fleeting glance before hurrying over to an elegant woman.

Ginny ran over to her own mother, tucking the package into her coat so her mother wouldn't see.

"There you are, Ginny. I've been worried sick!"

Ginny allowed herself to be smothered in her mother's arms, breathing in the mother smell of gingerbread and vanilla.

It wasn't until later that Ginny discovered who the boy was and why it had been a good idea to keep the bracelet he'd given her a secret.

* * *

Total words: 400.


	2. II: Broken

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

II: Broken

* * *

Somewhere—some_when_—Ginny knew that they'd broken away from the rest of the world. It didn't happen overnight. But she did wake up one morning and suddenly realized, _We've changed. _

That in itself wasn't much of a surprise. "Change" and "inevitable" could be relied upon to always follow within a word of each other. But this realization was different.

Maybe it was when she'd woken up, sticky with someone else's blood and only been disgusted by the fact that she'd ruined yet another pair of emerald robes. "Draco," she'd whined. "We forgot to bathe again."

From her stomach he'd looked up, long blond hair sticking to her stomach and streaked rusty. He'd licked his lips.

"I don't mind. You taste better in the mornings, anyway."

She'd hit him, but the idle thought that _maybe _this wasn't normal danced through her mind as she pulled him up her body by that hair to meet his lips. She certainly didn't recall waking in blood back in her Hogwarts days, or when she'd been a stalwart member of the Order.

Thinking more on it, she'd come to a sort of awareness about their relationship and how they functioned. Something with them was . . . wrong. Different from everyone else. What had changed?

It required a fair amount of self-perception to become cognizant that somewhere their sanities had first fractured and then shattered irrevocably. They'd been left behind as the rest of the world continued, forever locked in a perpetual moment where they'd never again change.

Maybe that was what insanity meant. Knowing that you'd never change and would watch everyone else live and grow and evolve while you were halted at a single moment, frozen with crystal clarity.

It had scared her. Ginny Weasley wasn't _supposed _to be insane. She wasn't _supposed _to be broken. She was _supposed _to marry Harry Potter and become one half of a golden couple. She'd visited her parents, ignoring the cadaverous white that nearly overwhelmed their eyes that were wide, wide, wide.

"What happened?" she'd asked.

"Ginny, oh, Gin-bug . . ." her mum had cried.

"Answer me!" she'd yelled, and sensing her anger, maybe even knowing it would end at that anyway, Draco Apparated into the Burrow.

"Come on, love," he'd told her.

Sometimes she didn't mind that they were broken. Draco always did manage to remind her why it didn't matter.

* * *

Total words: 397.

* * *

A/N: Hi again! For once in my life, something's going to be updated fairly regularly. I don't have a long note tonight because I have a killer headache and I'm just going to go to sleep. It feels like tiny gnomes are dry humping my brain. :|

Review replies aren't entirely done, but I'll finish them tomorrow. I'm posting this now without doing them because I'm hoping your reviews in the morning will make any lingering effects of the gnomes go away. :)

And obviously I'm not going to be sticking to any strict genres, as this one is about as far as you can get from the first one without necrophilia.

Roma

P.S. If the A/N is weird, blame it on the gnomes.


	3. III: Hope

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

III: Hope

* * *

Hope, Draco Malfoy realized, was completely overrated. Hoping for something wouldn't make it happen. Hope was the succulent aroma that tantalized one's senses before an action (which, in this analogy, Draco liked to think was equivalent to a delicately braised leg of Nundu seasoned with rosemary and lemon). Draco Malfoy was a man of action and he refused to allow his hopes to remain mere aromas.

So when Draco Malfoy stared intently at Ginny Weasley's flying form and fervently hoped that her shirt and Quidditch pads would disappear, he was less inclined to wait for it to happen and more inclined to whip out his wand and _make _it happen.

He was glad that it was late, because he certainly wouldn't want the Weaslette's luscious breasts available to any wanker who happened to be on the grounds this late. Hell, even she shouldn't be out this late, but who was he to complain? He only wished that he had planned it so he could take credit for the boon that it was.

She hadn't spotted him, which was good because he was pretty positive that his arse would have been cursed sixteen ways sideways if she had. It was just light enough that her pale, freckled skin was glowing like a silver Sickle and he could see that her rope of fire was tied back in a braid.

Draco withdrew his wand and idly flicked it in the Weaslette's direction from his position near the showers. He heard a muffled curse that sounded almost like "Ravenclaw's snatch!" as her hair rapidly turned into a tornado of flames and she fell out of the air a couple of feet before regaining her balance.

She grabbed her hair and he knew she was giving it a withering look. He shifted partially, getting more comfortable, before he waved his wand again and cast a barely-murmured "_Evanesco_."

Her shirt vanished quicker than lightning and sent a bolt of electricity through him twice as powerful. Even from that distance he could still see how certain bits puckered upon greeting the cool night air.

Draco ducked down for half a moment to better position his pants, but he froze when his ears caught the faintest of sounds. Then:

"You'd better hope I'm satisfied with the shirt off your back, Malfoy."

Oh, yes. She was quite satisfied by the end of that night.

* * *

Total words: 396.

* * *

A/N: Crap, I'm behind! I'll write another drabble after the dentist's tomorrow and then post it, and then another at my regular time (which is about now-ish, which is around midnight Alaska time).

In other news, I am very happy. ^_^

Thank you for all the lovely reviews!

Roma


	4. IV: Quills

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

IV: Quills

* * *

Blaise Zabini was a peacock feather. Ostentatious and bold, expensive and classy, he was the embodiment of "I'm rich and not afraid to show it." Ginny liked to imagine that his fingers were tiny blue-green fronds of a lavish quill as they skittered across her skin leaving goose bumps in their wake, ticking her inside and out.

Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was different. She pictured him as more traditional, wearing that old money aura like a thick fur-lined cape. For that reason, he was probably an eagle feather. It was also no coincidence that the harder vane feathers of an eagle quill matched the way his precisely manicured nails would dig deliciously into her backside.

As for her . . . well, she was probably a well-worn goose feather, used again and again until the vane feathers had separated and clumped together and patches of the down feathers had fallen off like bits of cotton.

"Ginevra," said a chiding voice.

She half-turned before silk-encased arms trapped her in place and she leaned backwards without thinking, the familiarity of the action more like habit than anything.

"We told you we could buy you a new quill," said a second voice like chocolate dripping into her ear that caused a blush to streak across her cheeks.

"You don't have to stand her mooning like a penniless waif anymore," said the first voice, a hair's breadth away from the chocolaty voice.

Guiltily, Ginny tore her gaze away from the quills displayed in the window and towards the two men who were standing quite comfortably close.

"I don't want you to buy a new one, though," she answered them, predicting the way Blaise's eyes would roll dramatically and Draco's lips would tighten ever-so-slightly. Long exposure to someone allows for a certain amount of foresight when it comes to their actions.

"Why not?" Blaise questioned in cocoa-thick tones.

She didn't want to buy a new quill because quills, to her, held much greater significance than simple writing utensils. Trading in her little beat-up goose quill for a sleek swan quill (already decided by Draco because of that "rubbish story" he'd read in Muggle Studies about the ducks) would finalize the separation from her old life to her new one—the one with Draco and Blaise in it.

Did she really care that much?

"Fine. I guess you can buy me a new one."

* * *

Total words: 400.

* * *

A/N: Still behind, as you can see. And I hardly got any reviewing done, either! Or review replies. Yikes!

This is going to be really difficult to continue writing my other stuff (AKA _Broken Mirrors_) while doing this challenge. I need encouragement!

Your reviews make this daily suffering worthwhile, too. Thank you. :)

Roma

P.S. I wasn't all that happy with this drabble, either. *frowns*


	5. V: Doorway

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

V: Doorway

* * *

"Where am I?"

The question bounced back and forth off the pearly walls until Ginny was positive it might bounce into her and knock her asunder. When it faded, she decided to stay silent.

She was in a white hallway. There was no end to it. As soon as Ginny reached that conclusion, she blinked, and then the hallway was filled with doors. Hundreds of doors that stretched farther than she could see.

The closest door, when opened, revealed a simple cottage with the smell of apple pie wafting from the small stove. It looked well-loved, with homemade toys littering the ground. Ginny didn't make a move to step in, hand gripping the white handle tightly, and left the door open as she moved to the next one door.

This one opened to a battlefield. A click escaped from Ginny's throat—the sound of a muffled gasp—as her mind sluggishly caught up to what her eyes were seeing, picking discernible shapes—_bodies_—out of the sea of carmine.

She left that door quickly.

The next one was a quiet forest, blanketed in snowy drifts and silent as the grave it contained, adorned with a simple white cross that she almost missed.

The door across from the forest opened into the Burrow's living room. She felt a stirring in her breast as she recognized it, but her hand refused to leave the knob on the door. She couldn't walk in and embrace its homey smell and absorb the comfort it emitted.

Mechanically, she opened the next door, then the next, and then the next with increasing urgency. A Ministry office devoid of personal belongings. A cell in Azkaban. A drawing room with a wedding picture of her and Harry framed over the mantle.

She must have opened hundreds, but she didn't feel any different, or even notice the passing of time. She opened another door, identical to the others, and was surprised at what she found.

"There you are," Draco said, looking bone-weary and achingly relieved. He held out a hand. "I've been looking for you, love."

Ginny stared at his hand, unable to let go of the door.

"Come back to me, Gin," he pleaded, eyes glinting like silver coins.

She hesitated. And then, slowly, she pulled her hand from the handle and placed it in his as she stepped through the doorway.

* * *

Total words: 394.

* * *

A/N: I really, really like this. And I really, really hope no one else writes something like this, since I'm writing it sort of early and before most people have posted theirs up. I think this one is my favorite.

Do you like it? Please say you do. :)

Roma


	6. VI: Breathless

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

VI: Breathless

* * *

She loved leaving him breathless. Wanting, panting for more; she lived for that. She loved it even more when she made it home and could see the fruits of her labor: rows and rows of precisely-labeled bottles, in blues the color of blood and greens that whispered sins and reds that made her heart pound.

Some nights, she would only sit on her throne, surrounded by her treasures, and be content. And other nights, she would succumb to the temptation and release one from its crystal gaol.

It would surround her, closer than a lover's embrace and more intimate than blood. She would match its pace with her own: sometimes steady, sometimes long, sometimes so quick she felt lightheaded. And then, quick as a blink, it would dissipate into the air and she would be left alone.

He was her favorite. The way his laugh would break into splinters that caught against her skin. The way his tears became her ambrosia to dine upon. The way his chest moved at her behest. He lived on her whim, and she cherished every moment of it.

"Sing for me, little birdy," she liked to coo to him, cupping his cheek with long nails trapped by riotous curls.

And his lips would crack as he smiled that pretty, pretty smile that was only hers.

"Please," he told her the most. And she always obliged him.

"Wait a moment, my pet."

She'd wipe her hands free of any stray drops of vermilion and reach for her wand.

"Breathe for me, Draco."

His breath would shudder out, faster and faster until it was swirling around her and it was all she could do to pull it from his essence and bottle it up for later. The transference left her dizzy and giddy and she'd giggle and kiss him on the check and leave him sucking in breath and futile breath, trying to replace that which he'd lost.

And then she'd lovingly clean the blood from her hands with a white handkerchief embroidered with the letters _PP _to start again.

* * *

Total words: 344.

* * *

A/N: A little bit shorter than the last few. And not really DG or DGB, either. Well, I guess it could be, if you squint and pretend. I also sort of like this idea. (I was also going to have the male be someone else, but for some reason, I couldn't picture Pansy doing this to anyone else.)

I'm behind in _everything_. Reading, writing, reviewing, replying-!

Sunday shall be my catch-up day. Yes. Sunday.

:(

Roma


	7. VII: Pain

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

VII: Pain

* * *

"Ouch!"

At the outburst, Ginny flipped a page from the Sunday edition of the _Daily Prophet _and didn't look up. "What is it this time?"

Draco spared her a glance before examining the miniscule slice on his pointer finger. "It appears that I have been wounded by your little plant." He gave said little plant a quelling glare, to which the Whomping Sprout (as was listed on the helpful little square of paper sticking out of the soil) waved its twiggy branches menacingly.

"Leave Wallace alone," Ginny told him offhandedly. "This must be a mistype," she muttered, squinting at the paper as she frowned to herself. "There's no way that the Cannons actually won. Ron'd have a field day."

"Wallace?" Draco repeated incredulously, looking up from his scrutiny of the cut. "Why in the world did you name that weed?"

"Because Wallace is a valued member of this family," she told him stoutly, head still buried in the Sports section.

"I don't know where to start with the inaccuracies in that statement," Draco said incredulously. "First off, the weed shouldn't be named 'Wallace.' Second off, it's certainly not 'valued.' And third off, we're _not _a fam—dear Salazar!" he exclaimed, interrupting himself when a stray glance at his finger proved the worse.

"Quick, grab the floo powder, Ginevra!" he instructed, striding to the front of their apartment to search for his boots.

"Draco," Ginny called. Instead of rushing around in desperation, she reached for her mug of tea instead.

"Don't you realize this is a matter of life or death?" came the irate yell.

"I don't really consider a drop of blood to be a matter of life or death."

"'_A drop of blood?'"_ Draco repeated as he stomped back into the room, boots successfully put on. "I don't think you realize the gravity of the situation. I could _die_, Ginevra. I could bleed out from this seemingly-insignificant cut and _die_. How would you feel about going to St. Mungo's then, hmm?"

"Draco, really." Ginny folded her paper, meticulously lining up the corners and taking as much time as possible in doing so. "This is getting ridiculous."

She snagged her wand as she walked by and grabbed his finger. He gave a half-hearted whimper of pain as she examined the drop of blood and then said, _"Episkey." _

"Oh," he said. "I could have thought of that."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

* * *

Total words: 400.

* * *

A/N: Hey there! I'm obviously a little far behind, but hopefully I'll be able to update soon. I'm really, really busy right now, so I'm sad to say that review replies are going to be cut down to ones that specifically answer a reviewer's question or confusion about a particular drabble. I'm so sorry! This really disappoints me, but it is incredibly difficult to do review replies for all the lovely reviews I receive.

After this drabble contest is over, though, there might be something in it for those reviewers who did their best to review every drabble. ;)

Thank you!

Roma

P.S. Eh, this one is sort of weird. I was sneezing a bunch when I wrote it. (Stop talking about me!)


	8. VIII: Test

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

VIII: Test

* * *

The first time he walked in on them, he was proud that he only made it through "_Avada_" before realizing that killing his girlfriend and her apparent paramour would be a Bad Idea. And Draco—or more specifically, the Malfoy name—simply could not afford any more Bad Ideas after the First War and that disaster of a Second War. It wouldn't do to have the Malfoy name forever besmirched as the family that murdered the darling of the Wizarding world.

Even if a conniving bitch like Ginevra Weasley occasionally deserved it.

The second time he walked in on her with someone, he had the decency to cast a _Crucio _on the bastard (who he dimly recognized as the keeper from his _own team_) and was only stopped by an annoyed, "Is that really necessary, Draco?"

"Necessary?" he'd bellowed, ignoring the whimpers of his soon-to-be-ex-keeper. "I'll _show _you fucking necessary, woman!"

At which point she'd walked out of the room, naked as the day she was born and not caring a whit. He knew she was only ignoring him to throw him off, but it still rankled.

And the third time he walked in on her, he'd had enough. It felt like something had been ripped out of him, and he felt that Malfoy mask that she so despised slipping over his features with ease.

"Get out."

"What?" came the half-mumbled voice of her newest lover.

They both ignored him. She was reclining on their bed—_their bed!—_like an indolent, wanton queen. He hated that the way her pink folds parted just so made a shiver of recollection rip through him.

"You might want to leave, Geoffrey," she commanded in the husky tone of hers that indicated arousal. Habit sparked his own arousal, and he loathed himself for it. He barely noticed the scrambling of the other man as he gathered his clothes and scurried out of their bedroom.

"I'm tired of this farce, Ginevra," he warned her, and unexpectedly, a smirk twisted across her features.

"Are you really, darling? I've been waiting for you to have enough and finally punish me for my 'indiscretions.' These little tests on your patience were beginning to wear _mine _thin."

"Tests?" he repeated dumbly.

"Oh, Draco. They were never _real_."

"They weren't?" He began advancing slowly. "Well then, lovely Ginevra, we have a bit of reconnecting to do, don't we?"

* * *

Total words: 398.

* * *

A/N: So realistically we all know that 1) Ginny would never cheat on Draco and 2) He really wouldn't allow the sorry bastard to live, either. But it's a pretty fantasy, anyway. I can definitely picture some punishment for her "tests," too. A few painful and heated punishments, if you know what I mean. ;)

But on the other hand, maybe she was using them to spice up their love life? Eh, it's too late to ponder their motives.

Roma


	9. IX: Drink

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

IX: Drink

* * *

The glass remained frozen halfway to her lips, poised to either rise or fall, dependent on the actions of the men across from her. The candlelight cast dim, heated shadows across pale and tawny skin. Flashes of silver and green winked at her like the cascade of stars she could see through the terrace roof covered in waterfalls of ivy.

They made it appear as if their sole attention was upon each other. But those brief flashes, shuttered by long lashes, told her otherwise: they were as aware of her as she was of them. She didn't know if it was the wine pooling through her veins that heated up her core or something else, something visceral inspired by delicious what-ifs that taunted her with their simplicity.

She watched as a murmur passed between dark lips and the pale shell of an ear, and she shivered from the pure intimacy of observing it. She was barely a chair length away and she hadn't been able to hear, but the musical cadence that rolled the words against sensitive skin told her that it had been whispered in Italian. She wondered what had been spoken, but then decided that she liked not knowing equally well.

An ivory hand with manicured fingers swiped back a few errant locks of ebony hair, brushing a thumb across the top of a bronzed cheekbone. An exhalation of shaky breath wove through silky strands of blond, and the accompanying low chuckle she was sure she could feel in the depths of her diaphragm. It stroked against her skin as it slipped by, lingering like drizzled honey.

An upraised palm was laid empty upon the glass table, an invitation to grasp and savor. She hesitated, unknowing is this heady feeling would spread or dissipate upon contact of her hand upon its dark center. Was it for her? For him? It was too hard to tell. Should she care? Would _they _care?

Did it matter?

She answered it herself: no.

She took his hand.

* * *

Total words: 335.

* * *

A/N: This was almost completely inspired by _Vicky Christina Barcelona_, a Woody Allen film with Scarlett Johansson and Penelope Cruz. Though I didn't even see the film all the way through, I'm _pretty _positive there wasn't a scene like this. And of course in _VCB, _it's a relationship between a man and two women, not a woman and two men. And obviously this is DGB because I can't stand anything else.

I highly recommend the movie. I need to watch the rest. There might be more little plot bunnies in this universe because this particular fic has attacked me like a limpet and won't let go.

Roma


	10. X: Anger

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

X: Anger

* * *

"What in the _hell _is that?"

From her position in the lounge, Ginny could hear Draco's disgusted voice ring through the hallways. _Ah. He's finally noticed. _

"'That' is my new plant," she replied in a normal tone, knowing that it'd annoy him.

"What?" he yelled back instead of doing the sensible thing of walking to where she currently was reclining.

Ginny refused to humor him and raise her voice. Instead, she raised the wine glass to her lips and took a sip.

"I asked a question, Ginevra."

Ginny brushed an imaginary piece of lint off her dress instead of acknowledging the icy tone of her lover.

He didn't quite stomp into the room, but the Malfoy equivalent might as well have shaken the foundations of the Manor.

"What sort of delusion were you under when you purchased this _thing_?" he questioned, holding the tiny little pot with a sprout at arm's length.

"I was under no sort of delusion when I acquired him," she informed Draco, her tone accompanied by a chilling look.

"If by 'acquire' you mean that you didn't actually _waste _money on this, then I'm sure as hell glad that you did _something _right."

Instead of rising to the bait, Ginny stuck her hand out complacently. "Give him here."

"_Him?" _Draco repeated incredulously, just now noticing her usage of the pronoun.

"I'm not sure it's safe for your health to continue this conversation," Ginny told him mildly, reaching out to take the pot from him herself. Gingerly, she brushed off a tiny piece of hair from the single leaf on the sprout and giggled to herself when it swiped at her playfully.

Draco stared, flabbergasted. "I'm not sure who the bigger idiot here is: the person who _gave _someone that tiny monstrosity or the person who _accepted _it."

"Oh, hush," Ginny snapped without looking away from the Whomping Sprout. "I read that plants need to hear positive verbal cues from people to grow healthy, not negative." She cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "You know, now that I think about it, I am just going to have to restrict your speaking privileges while you're around my new plant. I can't have you mucking up his growth."

Unable to form a coherent answer, Draco stared incomprehensibly for perhaps a minute before leaving the room.

Ginny smirked and tickled the Whomping Sprout.

* * *

Total Words: 394.

* * *

A/N: *waves sheepishly* Hey there, everyone. It's been a while. I'm definitely not going to be able to finish these drabbles in time for the deadline (I did give up a while ago), but I still think they're pretty fun. Maybe I'll finish them eventually.

As you can see, Wallace (from VII: Pain) has made a return, thanks to popular demand! In a timeline, this would be before Pain. And it's also not really much on Anger, but meh, that's all I could think of. I've been stuck on this drabble for months, y'know!

Huge thanks to reviewers who've reviewed and who I never replied to because I was too busy with illicit activities. Hopefully now that school's started I'll have more time to write (sort of oxymoronic, don't you think?) because I'll be more willing to procrastinate. Speaking of which, I've started Broken Mirrors chapter four at least three different times now.

Anyway, I've got at least a couple more drabbles stored away (XI: Dreams, XIV: Holiday, and LXIX: Hate) so perhaps I can get back to a regular schedule again?

*crosses fingers*

Thanks again for reading!

Roma


	11. XI: Dreams

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

XI: Dreams

* * *

He built houses made out of clouds that were more indestructible than diamond. She stole through them like a ghost, softening the edges until light bits of cumulus floated away like bits of cotton.

It annoyed him that she could tear down his buildings so easily. He was trying to build an empire, damn it, grounded upon his own genius. He didn't need some sort of flighty redhead with a penchant for lock picking spells mucking it all up.

He heard tales of her exploits, a crimson-haired devil that weakened customers' homes until they were left with furniture sitting upon the ground. He grimly determined that it was _her _from tales of a trickster smile that rivaled Puck's.

She was remarkably easy to trap, however. He remembered that. Baiting her had always been easy. All he had to do was slip a hint here, a whisper there, and voila: shuffling through his house one evening with a Firewhiskey in one hand and the other idly rubbing his bare chest, he stumbled upon the vixen that had caused him so much difficulty.

He waved off the bodyguards before slipping closer, knowing that she would be lost in the barely-heard humming that was now her trademark.

"You've been destroying my empire, love."

Rather than be surprised, she stopped humming instead. Her cheek turned perhaps half an inch, just enough so he could catch sight of her coy grin and the dusky fall of her lashes.

"It's not my fault you decided to build it upon something as flimsy as clouds."

Even after all these years, she still knew how to press his buttons.

"They weren't flimsy until you started showing up!"

She shrugged, turning back to her task.

"Again, it's not my fault clouds like me better than you."

Intrigued despite himself, he stepped aside so he could better see just what exactly she was doing to his cloud home. Instead of the wand he expected, she had placed a single ivory palm to the wall.

"Watch," she instructed, and pulled her palm back.

The clouds stuck to it like taffy before floating away in wisps above her head. As he stared, the wall began to crumble before his eyes.

"You bi—"

But she was already gone.

Two minutes later, Draco Malfoy stood amongst countless expensive pieces of furniture sitting upon the ground and cursed the day he met Ginevra Weasley.

* * *

Total Words: 400.

* * *

A/N: I've had this written for ages, and I ridiculously like it. I've always had a thing for burglary.

I also don't really know what's going on in this drabble, but lately that seems to be happening more and more, so meh, whatever.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Roma


	12. XII: Puzzle

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

XII: Puzzle

* * *

In a sense, they work as a team.

She likes to think that they rely on each other to do what they do, to destroy and create and dream together as one. He wouldn't be able to help people if it weren't for her. She's the reason why he has a purpose in life.

Her role in their team is a trivial one. It's commonplace and simple and she could do it in her sleep, but she suffers through these insipid and monotonous tasks because of him. She is the one who prances into minds like a wandering child and grabs fistfuls of memories and thought processes and _pulls_. She wanders out and leaves them drooling and crying and screaming and waits for him to come.

He'll arrive and chide her—_Again, Ginevra?_—and she'll blush coquettishly and scamper away from his too-bright grey eyes. She'll watch as he places his fingers on the temples of her subjects (victims? lovers? disciples?) and brings them from the edge with a few well-placed mental nudges.

She'll pout, then, but he knows she's only feigning. He'll reach for her and she'll vanish like a wisp of smoke.

She doesn't know where or when it started. Just that at some point, she started out on this half-conscious venture and shortly afterward, he followed her. Wherever she went, he was sure to follow, the Jack to her Jill. Only in their case, she figured that she was a bit more like Jack, falling down with Jill tumbling willingly behind her.

Sometimes, they almost catch her. They'll be lying in wait next to her chosen person, prepared to catch her. She'll laugh and vanish, saying in the darkness of her hideaway, "Only _he _is going to be able to catch me."

She hasn't let him. (Yet.) She's waiting for the day that he wants to catch her enough to stop trying to fix the puzzles she destroys. She's waiting for when he'll realize that destruction is merely another form of creation. She's waiting for him to want to create a new world out of the ashes of the old, a brave new world that _they _create from the crumbling abscesses of human minds.

She knows it will happen.

After all, he always comes.

* * *

Total Words: 377.

* * *

A/N: I swear it's not my intention to make every drabble into some sort of weird pipe dream/insanity type of fic. It's just turning out that way. I seem to have a hard-on for insanity!fics lately. Probably means I need to go write Broken Mirrors. But I don't mind writing all these insanity drabbles. They're loads of fun. (What does that mean about my own sanity?)

A couple of notes:

-The line "destruction is merely another form of creation" is poorly taken from the movie _Donnie Darko. _Take out the "merely" and "nother" part and you have the actual quote.

-I'm pretty positive that the "brave new world" thing was coined with the novel _Brave New World _by Aldous Huxley (I always forget that guy's first name).

Thanks again for reading!

Roma


	13. XIII: Discrepant

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

XIII: Discrepant

* * *

Looking out across the sea of blondes and brunettes, Draco Malfoy couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction. Yes, it _was _his twenty-first birthday and he was well past the average pureblood marrying age, but all these women obviously didn't seem to protest. They were all here in the hopes that he'd pick _them _to be the lucky lady that the notorious bachelor chose to settle down with and have a lovely bouncing baby and a prosaic happily ever after.

He wondered idly if he'd be able to beat his record tonight with seven different women as he sipped from his champagne flute.

"'scuse me," he heard from his left side just about the same time that a wicked little blade of an elbow jabbed right between his ninth and tenth ribs. He winced and nearly lost his champagne as he resisted the urge to strike back with his own elbow. After all, the voice had sounded distinctly female and his mother had drilled into him that One Does Not Strike Ladies. (Even if his father counteracted that with the lesson of You Can Hit Them Back If They Hit You First Or If You're Doing The Nasty. He did remember his Wizarding preschool years fondly.)

He looked down and was nearly blinded by the riotous mass of titian curls. His first thought was _Shit, _someone _needs to fire their hairdresser. _His second thought was _Oh, _hello when he noticed the enticingly round arse encased in a clingy verdant fabric. The next part was a complete reflex.

He curved his arm around that enticing little waist and pulled her in closer, bending down ever-so-slightly so he could whisper in her ear: "Why don't you say you and I get out of here?"

She shifted just enough so he could see her profile, and he was struck with the strongest sense of déjà vu that he'd had in a while. "Do I know you?"

"You should get some help with your pickup lines, Malfoy," the redhead told him. "Merlin, I need some alcohol." She looked around fruitlessly for a passing tray filled with flutes, and couldn't find one. So she took the champagne out of Draco's flabbergasted hand and knocked it back like it was water.

"Were you serious about that offer to get out of here?" she asked him seriously.

Suddenly, it clicked. "_Weasley?" _

"I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

Total Words: 399.

* * *

A/N: I sort of like this one? I think my favorite line is about Draco in preschool. LOL. I've also been liking my Ginnys lately though Draco's probably been a little flat.

Aw, who am I kidding? These are _drabbles_. x)

Roma


	14. XIV: Holiday

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

XIV: Holiday

* * *

She first saw him while wandering the sun-baked streets of Marrakech. It was late in the evening, so the stones appeared as if they'd been dipped in lush carmine. She couldn't remember where she'd been last since she came to Morocco—Nice, maybe, in France, or perhaps Yekaterinburg in icy Russia—but it didn't matter. All that mattered at that particular moment was the way his skin seemed to capture the sun like a native's and the careless way that his raven locks were scattered.

She felt like calling a name out from the tip of her tongue, but when she went to do so, nothing emerged. There was no name. The déjà vu she felt was merely her imagination. Yet he seemed so familiar to her weary eyes that she couldn't help but drift closer.

As she started moving, he looked up. Eyes a brilliant, brilliant green, so much more vibrant than Harry's could ever be, locked onto her amber ones with an intensity that startled her. Did she know him from another city? Another country? Another world?

Her skirt swirled around her legs indecisively, and she stopped. Somewhere, she realized, she'd lost her sandals. The dirt lingered between her toes like a comforting balm, and she turned around. The magnetism that she felt for this man had no place with her. Not here, not now, not ever. She didn't need attachments after what happened last time.

* * *

She stumbled across the blond in the darkened bar of her mediocre hotel. He had a plethora of tiny little glasses spread before him on the bar, all empty and meticulously arranged. The familiarity hit her this time and with it came a name—Draco. She couldn't help the knee-jerk reaction it forced.

"Malfoy?"

The blond turned around and half-squinted at her, looking remarkably put-together considering the amount of glasses that were littered before him.

"Weasley."

He turned back around, nothing further coming from the remark. She took this as an indication to join him.

She ordered a glass of the cheapest wine she could see, and before the dark man with darker eyes could fetch the wine, the blond next to her stopped him.

"Make that the Sercial Madeira, 1863."

She felt her eyebrows rise, but didn't bothered to correct him. If he was willing to pay for her drink, then who was she to squabble?

* * *

Total Words: 396.

* * *

A/N: Confession time! So some of these drabbles are sort of like stories that I've already started that never took off. This is one of them. It would have been a DGB sort of to the tune of _Vicky Cristina Barcelona, _and this one, actually, might still be written because that was fairly recent that I wanted to write it. See how it sort of dives off suddenly? Haha. I'm such a bad writer.

Oh, and I guess this one might be sort of connected to IX: Drink? They sort of have that same tone.

Roma


	15. XV: Mirror

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

XV: Mirror

* * *

"That stupid bint!" Draco Malfoy fumed angrily as he stormed through his Gryffindor dorm room. Another day, another chance for that Slytherin bitch to rub his family's monetary problems and muggle-loving ways in his face in the most unpleasant manner possible. And she'd gotten away with _cursing _him today. Cursing! Him! Draco Malfoy!

"Draco?" came the curious voice of Harry Potter, his best friend. "Is that you making all that noise?"

"Fucking Weasley _again—" _he descended into an expletive-filled minute of mumbling about the redheaded girl who'd made his life a living hell the instant she'd stepped her dainty, prissy little princessy foot inside of Hogwarts.

"She's pretty awful, yeah," Harry said in agreement from his bed.

Draco snorted loudly. "'Pretty awful'? I'd use that to describe those lugs she always hangs around, Zabini and Nott. But _she's _like evil given form in a redheaded freckle-faced _monstrosity. _You can't describe that gir—no, that _thing_ as 'pretty awful'!"

Harry had the good grace to look abashed, but he quickly attempted to restore himself in the eyes of the blond firecracker. "Well, the other day I saw her sprinkling crushed newts into Neville's Unctuous Unction potion, and everyone knows that crushed newts in that potion makes anyone who drinks it completely hate the person who gave it to them."

"That sneaky little rat!" Draco exclaimed, leaping to his feet once more to continue his tirade against the oppressive snake. "Poor Neville didn't stand a chance against Snape. And I bet he _encouraged _her to do it!"

Harry nodded in agreement. "I wouldn't doubt it. He hates Neville the most, after all, and loves Weasley more than anything. I bet they're even in a—" He cut himself off before finishing the thought and exchanged a look with Draco. In unison, they made gagging motions and moved on.

"Look, I'll try and see if I can get her back. Let's start brainstorming . . ."

The scene faded and left the reflection of a petite, redheaded girl, standing in an empty Gryffindor dorm. Ginny smiled to herself. She gave a final, cursory glance over her looking glass spell and saw that it was Good.

* * *

Total words: 363.

* * *

A/N: So, honestly? I hated this drabble. First I couldn't think of anything to write, because anything with "mirror" automatically made me think of Broken Mirrors and while it probably would have been okay to write a drabble in the Broken Mirrors universe, I thought it best not to because of the chance of revealing something that hasn't been revealed or mucking up the canon of that particular story or whatever. So I was left with other choices, like thinking of original crap, and came up with this.

It's obviously inspired by the 1936 Mickey Mouse short "Thru the Mirror" which was in turn inspired by Lewis Carroll's _Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. _Also these drabbles pretty much suck because I get stuck on one and then give up for a month or so. Meh.

And I'm also only writing because it's 2 AM and I'm avoiding studying for a midterm and writing an essay. Gah. I hate myself sometimes. Also I'm tired so I'm rambling. You can disregard this whole A/N except for the middle paragraph and this part right here: you are seriously crazy for continuing reading this but I heart you anyway. :)

Roma


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